II. A RUDE AWAKENING

HE AWOKE SLOWLY, reveling in the warmth of the bed. He lay on his stomach, his head was turned sideways; not only was his nose mashed into the pillow in a way that made it distinctly difficult to breathe, awake, but he was sure to have a horrible neck-ache as soon as he got up. He didn't have to open his eyes to know that.

Perhaps Calibri could massage it away. He smiled a little in comfortable anticipation, his hand moving instinctively to where she should be, curled up inches away.

She wasn't.

Naveen bolted straight up in bed. (His neck didn't hurt.) The thought of Calibri had been followed, sluggishly, by the last time he'd seen her, and—and he was in his bed in the castle, not in Calibri's Saubehus flat at all. He groaned at the thought of those reporters. All those reporters, and what they meant.

The game was up. In almost every pleasure-dome in the kingdom, there'd be a doma baying for his blood. And Naveen was pretty sure no other pleasure-dome would accept his custom now, even as their Crown Prince.

He said nothing to Laurence as the older man puttered about, instructing the valet and other servants. He tried not to think as his valet dressed him in court attire: cream doublet and red fitted pants.

And then, walking down the corridor to the banquet hall, he thought. And thought again. And finally said something. "Faldi faldonza!"

If all the domen in Maldonia had read the newspaper, then everybody else in the country had as well. "Everybody else" included, presumably, his parents. Who were already upset with his exorbitant spending and partygoing. Naveen could think of a few more, stronger, words he wanted to use, but the massive oak doors were opened and the herald announced him to his parents. No need to make matters worse by swearing in their presence.

Without guests to entertain, the King and Queen of Maldonia neglected their customary seats, one at each end. Instead, Andalus and Aharoni sat companionably beside each other. Queen Aharoni was calmly spreading marmalade onto an already-buttered slice of bread, but Naveen's father was…Naveen blanched. Reading the newspaper.

Much as Naveen's scandal was front-page-worthy, Naveen could see that the front page was completely devoid of any of the…photographs…of him which had been taken the night before, probably out of deference to the ladies who chose to ignore, and the children they kept from, news of such a scandal.

King Andalus turned a page.

"Good morning, Naveen, dear. Come sit down. And how did my little fragee pruto sleep last night?" Aharoni added, referring to her older son's childhood nickname. De Fragee Pruto—the story of a frog kissed by a princess, causing him to turn into a prince—had been his favorite fairy tale once, and certainly he had leapt around like a frog as an exuberant child. Or so, Naveen assumed wryly, the servants had told her. Neither his mother nor his father had ever spent much time around Naveen, especially after Nik was born six years ago.

Now Naveen was an adult, twenty years old. He no longer was interested in fairytales, with all their girlish hopes and fanciful dreams-come-true. And he resented his mother's way of giving him little nicknames and endearments—especially in public, as if she wanted to hear people say, "Oh, what a loving, attentive mother Queen Aharoni must be!"

"I slept well, Mother."

Nik, who had a way of popping up unexpectedly when he was being thought of, literally did just that, bursting out from underneath the table. There was more jam on his face than on the scone he held. "Naveen!"

"Hey, Nik." Naveen scooped up his younger brother in his arms, jam and all. As a rule, Naveen disliked kids—they were so loud and messy and just annoying—but Nik, though he was all of those things, was Naveen's brother, and Naveen made, or could not help making, an exception for the boy.

"Naveen, Naveen, did you see all the stars last night? Tim and I couldn't sleep, it was so bright outside." Tim was Nik's personal servant, the son of servants, and was a small red-haired boy about Nik's age. "I asked Tim what the stars were, and he said they were fireflies. But I think that's sort of stupid, 'cause how would fireflies get up there? Tim says they flew all the way up and got stuck in that big, black-blue thing, the—the, the sky. And—"

"Achidanza! Nik, let your brother sit down and eat something." It should have been a tender rebuke, but Nik and Naveen both flinched at King Andalus's reprimand. "Good morning, Naveen."

"Good morning, sir." Naveen, setting his brother down, saw the way Nik's face fell, turned inwards like a failed soufflé. It was a mirror image of what Naveen's face must have been in his father's presence, fourteen years ago, and maybe even more recently that.

But Andalus's harsh tones were nothing out of the ordinary, and Naveen could breathe. His father must not have gotten to the juicy news yet.

As usual, breakfast, save for Nik's occasional boyish questions and tangential stories, was a silent affair. This keyed Naveen up more than ever at first, though. WHERE was the article? When would his father read it?

Finally, Andalus set the paper down with an unconscious sigh, and Naveen nearly leaped out of his chair with a happy anxiety: There was no way that article could be in the paper if his father was still this calm! Had Calibri bribed the reporters? Thank God for her! She must have forgiven him his deception, then!

Good girl. Naveen resolved to go to see her that day, and throw a party in her flat at night. He finished his breakfast in high spirits, carrying on a conversation with Nik—who refused to believe that fireflies didn't get stuck in the sky—and then, with a breezy "Good morning, Sir—Mother—Nik," he all but danced out of the banquet hall, so light were his feet and his spirits.

.:..:..:.

"SHE WON'T SEE YOU, your Highness."

"But Mamad—" protested Naveen indignantly. "You haven't even asked her. She doesn't even know I'm here."

Mamad, the woman who ran the Saubehus, shook her head. "I'm sure every one of my girls knows you're here by now. They can read, you know. Sometimes they even practice doing so," she added sarcastically, "and your antics weren't exactly published in a remote corner of the paper. None of them would have you anymore, even if you asked. Secondly, I have very good reason to speak for Calibri."

"Oh?" inquired Naveen, sarcastic in his turn—despite a sort of mounting hysteria. So it had been published after all. But then— "And what might that be?"

Mamad threw back her head and laughed. "Your Highness, you're so damn naïve for a man of the world. How do you think the reporters found out the truth about you? Calibri made a very expensive phone call last night."

"Faldi faldonza," gasped Naveen.

"Shut your mouth," said Mamad. "I won't have you using such language around my girls. You might…corrupt them!" Still laughing, she slammed the door in his face.

"And abinaza to you too," muttered Naveen, slamming his hat back on his head and climbing back into his car. He was going to go straight back to the palace…and hide in his room. Under the bedcovers. Maybe even under the bed. Anywhere, as long as no one found him until this embarrassment was over.

He had no such luck.

"Sire!" Laurence came hurrying down the steps as Naveen drove up.

"Ah, Laurence," Naveen sighed, relieved. "My car's gotten dirty this morning. Tell—tell whoever washes the cars around here to do it, and soon. I need it this afternoon. Or, damn it, maybe I'll just take another car—"

"But sire—"

Naveen wasn't listening; he was already halfway upstairs.

He spent the next hour constructing a pillow fort on his bed. Childlike, yes; but Naveen wanted to reconstruct, as well, the feeling of complete security, of invincibility, which he had experienced inside such forts as a child.

Laurence, who had spent the hour first giving the servants the order, and then looking for Naveen, poked his head inside Naveen's suite to see a pair of brown eyes regarding him condescendingly from between fluffy white pillows. "Sire!"

"Whawrence?!"

"I beg your pardon, Sire?"

One of the pillows erupted off the top of the fort, and Naveen poked his head out. "WHAT is it, Laurence?" he repeated angrily.

"Sire, your father summoned you to the throne room as soon as you arrived home!" puffed Laurence, his eyes bulging out of his head in anxiety.

"Faldi faldonza," said Naveen.

.:..:..:.

KING ANDALUS FLUNG A newspaper at his son's feet. Naveen didn't dare leave it there, but once in his hands, he didn't dare look at the article either.

"Three years, Naveen! For three years, your mother and I have turned a blind eye, thinking, hoping that this was merely a coming-of-age phase, that you would eventually settle down, with or without one woman in your life, perhaps even do something useful," Andalus dragged the word out sarcastically, "such as get a job or be philanthropic. And you don't even have the decency to be idle. You're busy wasting your time, and the money in the royal treasury, on loose women and exorbitant parties, never anything beneficial to anyone—even to you. Well? Have you anything to say in your, ah, defense?"

"Sir," said Naveen, utterly cowed, "sir, why didn't you say anything at breakfast?" If he had, the lecture might—might—have been done by now, and he could have got on with things.

Andalus shook his head rapidly, as though resisting the undignified, unroyal urge to fly across the throne room and strangle his older son. "I had hoped," he drew out the last word, beginning to pace back and forth before his throne, "that, being as it is that you know a great deal more about what happened last night than your mother and I do, you would have had the courage to confess it to one or both of us yourself, before we could hear it from an outside source.

"But we watched you throughout the meal, and you were completely unrepentant, even lighthearted. You showed no sign that you realized the magnitude of your actions.

"Naveen! You are my eldest son! The Crown Prince of Maldonia! The whole country would have looked to you someday! Now they, as well as I, am wondering how you could ever have handled a kingdom, when you were too busy chasing after every skirt you saw!"

A quiet, almost hysterical doubt began to grow within Naveen. "'Would,' sir?"

Andalus stopped pacing and looked at his eldest son. The anger in his eyes was infused with something very different, but Naveen did not see it. Nor would he have recognized it as heartbreak suppressed by a much stronger sense of duty and indignation. "Your mother and I have agreed that it is best to cut you off."

"…what?!" said Naveen. It was almost an unmanly screech. "Sir, do you mean…financially?"

"Financially," his father agreed. "And familially, as well. The Royal family of Maldonia will not recognize you as its son. As of this moment, Nik is the Crown Prince of Maldonia. Sir," Andalus addressed Naveen, surprising him, "if you have no further business here, you may now depart."

Next: UNBELIEVABLE WEALTH, in which Naveen does something very stupid. (Or does he?)